


take me out (and finish this waste of a life)

by rhythmicroman



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, Biting, Blood Drinking, Body Modification, Branding, Burns, Canon Temporary Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Human Experimentation, I guess????, My First Work in This Fandom, Objectification, POV Third Person, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Present Tense, Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Undead, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Work In Progress, all that fun stuff, androids are vampires, connor is a vampire hunter but also a vampire, connor is referred to with it/its for a few chapters, its briefly mentioned but still present, kind of, possibly canon divergent, probably also briefly mentioned but still present, then he/him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: Hank has seen them before, sure. He's seen their bodies in homicide investigations, sickly-pale skin burnt and misshapen by human touch; he's seen the newly-turned in hospital waiting rooms, too stuck in his own grief to truly notice them; he's seen them in glass-walled cells, sitting perfectly still, names branded into their thighs, charged for crimes they never technically committed.The walking undead were not uncommon in 2038, but he hadn't expected one as a partner.





	take me out (and finish this waste of a life)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song "trapdoor" by twenty one pilots
> 
> I saw a few vampire!Connor fics, but none were quite what I expected, so here's my attempt - I'm kind of in love with vampire lore, so I'll try my darnedest to make this interesting.
> 
> my tumblr is @kazsou, if you wanna show me anything/yell at me/generally talk!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> Nobody knows his real name,
> 
> but now he just uses one he saw on a grave.

It watches him with dead eyes, and his breath catches in his throat.

Hank has seen them before, sure. He's seen their bodies in homicide investigations, sickly-pale skin burnt and misshapen by human touch; he's seen the newly-turned in hospital waiting rooms, too stuck in his own grief to truly notice them; he's seen them in glass-walled cells, sitting perfectly still, names branded into their thighs, charged for crimes they never technically committed.

The walking undead were not uncommon in 2038, but he hadn't expected one as a partner.

The bloodsucker is all dead eyes and stiff limbs, somehow managing to be even less human than the other ones he's seen. It doesn't even seem to breathe, chest sitting just as still as the rest of it, eyes wide and unblinking. Its dark hair is styled near-perfectly, aside from a few limp strands in front of its unmoving eyes, and it's dressed perfectly, clean and stylish, like a doll straight out of the box.

"This is Connor," Fowler reminded him, jostling the vampire by the shoulder; Connor didn't so much as flinch. "it's a newer breed. It'll serve as your partner."

Ah yes, breeds; once vampirism was treated as a disease, but now it was a mutation, something that made people inhuman and unworthy of care. Numerous companies had immediately pounced on the marketability of the undead population, but the biggest and cruellest was AfterLife - once owned by a vamp-sympathiser, it'd been abandoned by its original CEO once he'd realised which direction the company was headed in.

AfterLife went on to become the biggest breeding company in the country, if not the world, and were always selling something different - "this one's the perfect gardener", "this one will care for your kids", "this one feels even less than the others". Connor seemed to fit in the 3rd option.

All AfterLife vamps were branded - some strange symbols burned onto their thighs and, for newer and more expensive breeds, in more visible places. Connor must truly be one of the newest, one of their proudest achievements, because Hank can vaguely make out a faded scar on the underside of its jaw, the stiffly-formal "AfterLife, 2038" barely readable and yet stark against its skin.

He can't find it in him to argue, so he replies with a simple, shaky "Fuck, alright," and retreats back to his desk to continue working.

The walking corpse stands stiffly besides Fowler for a moment or two more, like it's lagging, before muttering something unintelligible to Fowler and striding formally towards Hank. It stops a few feet away, stare burning a hole in the back of his head, before speaking, louder this time.

"I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant Anderson," it rasps. Its voice is raspy, and a little weird-sounding if you ask him, but it has a certain kindness to it that strikes him as surprising. It speaks formally and professionally, with the mannerisms of a new recruit and the (perhaps misplaced) confidence of an old friend. He nods stiffly in response, and it falls back into silence, looping around his desk and sitting at the vacant one opposite.

It sits like a doll, too - arms folded too neatly, hands clasped at its knees, legs together and perfectly bent. Its back is board-straight and its head uncomfortably stiff, staring at him again, eyes suddenly focused.

"You have a dog, right?" those dark eyes flicker momentarily to the mess of fur clinging to his jacket and desk-chair, and it opens its mouth to speak again right as he attempts to interject. "I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

He attempts to ignore it again, but its eyes have lit up slightly in some small semblance of life, and it looks maybe just a little less creepy. "Sumo," he grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I call him Sumo."

Connor nods, a few more strands of its hair falling out of place, eyebrows furrowing. Its face suddenly relaxes. "I am sure Sumo is a wonderful dog, Lieutenant."

Oh Jesus, "employed" - Connor's eyes regain their glossy, dead look, and Hank tears his eyes away, glaring at his terminal as if it had personally offended him; and yet, even as he ignores his new undead co-worker, he can't help but wonder what heartless sod's son had been bought away and bitten for the sake of continuing a business. He sighs, and scrolls aimlessly through another case file.


End file.
